San Fran Shore Leave
by L122yTorch
Summary: What Jim had expected for shore leave, and what ended up happening, were two very different things. Can Spock come to his rescue when Jim's shore leave goes south, and what'll happen if he does? One thing is for sure - there will be repercussions. *Warning - Non Con Elements*
1. Chapter 1

The crowd was dense and pulsating. Drinks were flowing and the lights switched from blue to purple and back again. The air smelled like alcohol, sweat and anticipation.

It was the kind of night Jim used to crave. But it felt so foreign being earth-bound. Starfleet had mandated shore leave after the Enterprise's last close call, so here Kirk was, in San Francisco on a Friday night in a sea of laughter and conversation.

Some of the other crewmen went out together, but Jim wanted alone time, so he politely excused himself from the group and headed down the sidewalk in the dark. He kept walking, following the light of the moon, until a throbbing club caught his eye.

He wasn't really in the clubbing mood, but he wished he was, and thought that maybe if he ventured inside, his mood would turn around. So he waited in line until he got in. It was easy enough with his looks.

The club was nice inside, not seedy or gross. The walls shone silver, and mirrors throughout the main room bounced the light back onto the dancers. He made his way through the throng of smiling patrons and parked himself at the bar.

"Burbon and ginger ale," he said, putting his credits on the table.

He looked around the room as he waited for the barkeep to get him the drink.

There were plenty of beautiful women in short tight dresses. The light would bounce off their lip gloss and catch the shimmers in their dresses. Blondes, brunettes, red heads, tall, short, human, alien, everything. It was a single man's dream in here, but the women aren't what pulled at his attention.

He didn't even notice when the bartender put the drink down in front of him, he was too busy looking at a Vulcan. A male Vulcan. He could only see the Vulcan's back. He was tall with pointed ears poking out beside his black hair. His thin gray shirt clung to the muscles of his back and his jeans were rather "fitted."

Jim gulped and reprimanded himself for openly ogling someone. The Vulcan must have felt his eyes, because he turned to look just as Jim snapped his head toward his drink. He picked up the freezing glass and took a good long swig. His fingers were so tight on the glass that he's lucky he didn't break the damn thing.

What's wrong with you? he thought to himself. He knew exactly why that Vulcan had caught his eye, even though he didn't want to admit it. He could probably have anyone here he wanted, but not the Vulcan. He was busy chatting up a gorgeous Romulan woman, and after the staring incident, he waved his hand towards the dance floor and the pair disappeared into the crowd.

Jim felt disappointed.

"Hey there," a voice said from behind him. He swiveled around and was met with the sight of a tall attractive man. His jaw was chiseled and his piercing green eyes roamed over Kirk's face. "Hey," Kirk returned cooly. The man must have picked up on his less-than excited tone.

"Not having a great night huh?"

Kirk gave a sheepish smile, "yeah, you could say that."

"Well, maybe I could change that," the man said, leaning a hip against the bar. He was at least 6'3 and wore all black.

"My name's Lane, what's yours?"

"Jim."

"Well Jim, what are you drinking?"

Kirk looked at his drink and then back at the stranger. "I..uh…" he started unsure. "I'm not really…in the mood for company," he said as politely as possible.

Lane smiled, exposing brilliantly white teeth. "So it's the whole…'it's me, not you' thing then?"

"Yeah," Jim shrugged. "I appreciate the gesture but…" he trailed off.

Lane inched closer. "But what? Not into guys?"

Jim's mouth parted slightly, his brain was floundering for good responses. "Not really," he settled on. "Plus, there's lots of guys here," he said looking around, "I'm sure you can find better company than me."

"You underestimate yourself," Lane said with a sly grin.

It wasn't that Lane wasn't attractive - he certainly was. But Kirk couldn't get someone else out of his mind. Plus, he'd never acted on any of his "male-centered" fantasies before. And the first time to do so probably shouldn't be with a stranger…right?

What double standards he had! The first time he had sex with a girl, he barely knew her. Maybe that's why he wanted it to be different if he was ever with a guy.

"I don't believe you when you say you aren't into guys," Lane whispered, leaning closer. "I saw the way you were looking at that Vulcan," he nodded in the direction that the Vulcan used to be standing. "If he had any brains in that logical head of his, he'd turn about face, forget that Romulan and come to you. But lucky me that he didn't," Lane said, resting a hand on Jim's arm.

Jim pulled away. "I'm sorry… really," Jim said. "I just…I'm not interested."

Lane nodded, dejected, and took a step back. "Suit yourself." he said.

"Sorry man," Jim said again, wondering why he was apologizing so profusely. He took a few more gulps, finishing his drinks and then turned towards the dance floor. Maybe he could shake this whole week off on the dance floor.

He had barely penetrated the crowd when the room took a sharp turn. He blinked hard, multiple times and brought his hand to his face. Adrenaline poured into his chest, his face felt hot, and his legs felt strange. He made it further into the crowd, he tried to say something to a few people, but everyone was busy dancing and the music was so damn loud.

Just as he thought his legs were going to buckle, he felt a strong body up against his back. "Hey there man, let me help you out," the familiar voice said into his ear. The breath was hot against his skin and alarm bells were going off in his mind.

The man pulling him along to the back of the club was Lane.

"Stop," he said, but no one heard, no one cared. He was being guided past the dancers, past the pulsing lights and the pounding music until he was in a room. They were still in the club, but they were alone.

Terror ripped through Jim's body as Lane shut the door and locked it.

"No," Jim said weakly, "I don't want this."

"Sure you do," Lane said, "you just don't know it yet."

Spock. Spock. I need my communicator. I need to call Spock. Get Spock here. Spock, the single word bounced around Jim's fuzzy mind.

He must have tried to reach down for it, because in an instant, Lane reached out and grabbed the communicator, throwing it across the room.

No. Spock. I need to call Spock. I need Spock, he thought.

Fear flashed across his features and his chest heaved up and down, but it was as if no air filled his lungs.

"Relax baby," Lane cooed. "I'll take good care of you. I like to take it slow," he said as he slipped a hand up Jim's black shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course Spock didn't take leave, why would he? He didn't need to. He wasn't tired. Instead, he stayed behind on the Enterprise with a skeleton crew.

The ship was docked and receiving maintenance. During the day, a flurry of fresh faces would swarm onto the ship and check it's systems, it's warp core, it's engines, it's life support, etc.

Spock had spent most of the week attending meetings at headquarters and staying with the ship. It wasn't thrilling, but Spock didn't exactly crave excitement anyway.

The day before they had arrived, the crew was abuzz with fresh enthusiasm and a strong desire to reach the ground. As much as Starfleet was home to them, a solid planet still felt good beneath their feet. But that's not how it was for Spock.

Sure, the Vulcan was half human, but this wasn't his planet. Vulcan was his home, and he'd never set foot on it again.

That thought made a peculiar feeling curl in his stomach, it made his chest hurt, it closed up his throat. And that scared him. It scared him how close he was to losing control. That just a thought away, just a moment away, lay emotional destruction. He was trying his best to cope with it. By human standards, he was handling it swimmingly. But by his standards, he was failing miserably.

Just the fact that he was sitting here, in the captain's chair, dwelling on it - meant he was failing. But a lapse in focus could be considered acceptable in this moment, due to the fact that it was late at night and there was no present danger or other matters to attend to. A human would call it boredom…day dreams. But it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare.

"Sir," a voice cut through the silence, "there's a transmission coming through for you." Spock wondered why the young man seemed so surprised. "It's Ambassador Spock," the young man said after a moment. "Should I put it up on the main screen or send it to your PADD?"

Spock's brow raised a few centimeters. "PADD."

The dark screen came to life and in his hands, he saw…himself. "Good evening Ambassador Spock," he said, but the older Vulcan seemed preoccupied, worried even.

His brown eyes were wide, despite the weight of wrinkles that gravity had brought down over his lids. "I apologize for skipping formalities Spock, but…" he paused, looking elsewhere for a second. "But something is wrong."

"What is wrong?" Spock asked leaning forward in the chair, concern now flitting across his own eyes.

"You must find your captain," Spock Prime said. "Something is wrong, he is in trouble."

Spock's heart picked up it's pace within his ribs. "How do you know that he is in trouble? Where did you get this information?"

"There is not time for me to explain Spock. You simply must leave and find Jim Kirk as fast as you can, he is in trouble."

If it were anyone else, Spock would question this, he would press further to determine the source of the information. But what if there was no time? And who better to trust than himself?

"Do you know where he is?"

Spock prime shook his head left and right slowly, solemnly. "I do not," he answered. "You must find him yourself, and you must hurry."

"Alright."

"Please let me know when you have found him and assured his safety," Spock Prime added, just before Spock was about to shut off the PADD. He was already briskly walking down the white corridors.

"I will," Spock agreed, shutting off the device, handing it over to a crew member, and running down the hallway.

His mind clawed for knowledge, for logic, but found none.

How had Spock Prime received information that Jim was in danger? How could he have such information and not know where Jim was? What sort of danger was Jim in? How would he know where to find his captain? Who were the last people to be seen with him? Surely whatever was happening had not happened in Spock Prime's timeline. There was no doubt that the elder was caught off guard.

Panic knocked at Spock's emotional barriers and grew with every second. He repeatedly tried Jim's communicator, but got no answer.

He was in the transport room, but didn't want to go anywhere until he could get a good idea of where to go.

Dr. McCoy was on the ground, so he flipped open his communicator and paged him. He answered. "Hay Spock!" There was music playing in the background and the doctor seemed to be in a good mood. "Doctor, is the captain with you?"

Bones' laugh dissolved and he answered, "No. He left our group about a half hour ago, didn't tell anyone where he was goin'. Why?" his tone grew serious.

"I have reason to believe that he may be in trouble Doctor."

"Why is that?"

"There is no time to explain," Spock said, "but please begin to look for the captain and I will as well. Spock out."

He snapped the communicator shut and held it in his hand for a moment, staring at it, before turning to the engineering officer behind him in the transport room.

"Is it possible for me to get a location fix on a communicator?" he asked.

"I believe so Mr. Spock. But…" "But what?" "But unless there is solid, credible evidence that the desired party is in imminent danger, doing a location search is in violation of StarFleet privacy laws. It would certainly seem like an odd thing to do while the desired party is on shore leave on a non-hostile planet."

Spock walked up to the man. "You will determine Captain Kirk's location through his communicator, and you will do it now. That is an order Officer Dalik."

"Yes sir," the young officer acquiesced, his eyes quickly darting down to the computers beneath his finger tips.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim tried yelling, but to no avail. Even the Vulcan out on the dance floor (with superior hearing) probably couldn't hear him over the heavy beat of the music.

He received a sharp blow across the face for his efforts. "There's really no need to yell Jim," Lane said.

"I've always been taught…" Jim slurred, "that yelling is what you're supposed to do when you're being assaulted."

"Assaulted?" Lane giggled, tearing Jim's black shirt off his body. He ran his coarse fingers up and down Jim's chest, turning his fingers on their way down so that his blunt nails clawed at Kirk's flesh. Jim hissed.

Lane then grabbed his wrists and strung them up above Jim's head. He was being handcuffed?

"This hardly seems humane," Jim muttered. "Shut up pretty boy," Lane breathed into his face. "I'll treat you well, but only if you behave."

Lane's eyes raked over Jim, now shirtless and strung up by handcuffs that were attached to he wall (well above his head). His taut chest was dotted with perspiration, and shone gold despite the rather dark surroundings. "You're gorgeous," Lane said into his neck, before biting down - hard. Jim yelped.

This would typically be the time that Jim would kick the shit out of his assailant, but his legs felt like dead weight. His brain kept sending the message to kick him in the nuts, but his legs wouldn't carry out the order. He could barely even move them.

And to make matters worse, only his toes could touch the ground. The handcuffs around his wrists began to ache. It was hard to breathe. He felt so goddamn hot, and tired.

Lane backed up, stared at Jim and licked his lips. A sick twisted feeling erupted in Jim's stomach. God…if only he were Vulcan, he could rip the fucking handcuffs off the wall, he could nerve pinch this sick f*#& and toss him across the room. But he wasn't Vulcan. Just human - weak and susceptible. How did he miss this? How could he have let this happen?

"Don't look so sad dear," Lane said as he slipped off his own shirt. "It'll be fun, I promise." He unbuckled his pants, slid down the zipper and tugged them down. He kicked his shoes off along with the pants and stepped close to Jim once more.

"Hmm…what's this?" Lane said, a hand reaching towards Jim's communicator. All Jim could manage was a "don't," but it was too late. Lane had thrown it violently on the ground and stepped on it repeatedly.

"I don't want this. Let me go," Jim whimpered in a voice he'd never heard come out of his mouth before.

"Well if you didn't play so fucking hard to get, we wouldn't be here, would we? We'd be back at my flat in my soft warm bed," he brought his hands to Jim's pants and began to undo them. "But that's okay, I like it better this way."

"I bet you do," Jim ventured, his drug-addled brain throwing up caution signs that his mouth ignored. "Someone needs to learn how to deal with rejection better."

Searing pain rocketed across his face. He was so out of it that he didn't realize he was punched again until a moment after it happened.

Lane yanked down his pants, ripping them in the process. "And someone really needs to learn how to hold his tongue," Lane returned. "But don't worry, I can teach you that."

Forcefully he kissed Jim. It was all teeth and tongue, rough, bruising bites on his lips. He tried to pull back, but was met with the wall. For his defiance, Lane bit down harshly on his lower lip until it was cut and pouring out blood. Lane just lapped it up.

"Stop," Jim said when he had pulled away for some air. "No," Lane responded. "Just pretend that I'm someone you like…it'll make it easier. He pulled down Jim's boxers, exposing an impressive erection.

"Wh…what did you give me?" Jim asked stunned. In no way was he aroused, yet the throbbing member between his legs stood tall. "I gave you a lovely little cocktail that'll keep you foggy and hard. Look on the bright side, there's a 50% chance with this stuff that you won't even remember what's happening right now, come this time tomorrow."

"So that makes it okay?"

This time Lane punched him in the stomach. He would have doubled over… if he could have.

Lane still had boxers on. They were red, silk, looked expensive. He grabbed his own dick and pulled it through the opening in the front. His cock was thicker than Jim's.

Whatever he's gonna do with that thing, it's gonna hurt, Jim thought to himself. Just pretend he's someone you like. Yeah. Like Spock.

If he wasn't so drugged out, Jim would have been totally freaking out that he was openly fantasizing about his First Officer - something he had deliberately avoided doing since the day he met the Vulcan.

Lane was stroking them, together, with one hand. Was it his pre-cum slicking them up, or Lane's?

What a silly question to be thinking at a time like this.

Lane told him to keep his eyes open, to watch, and he did, but he was zoning out.

How nice this would be if it were Spock… even if he were tied up. He'd let Spock tie him up. He'd kiss the Vulcan the human way and the Vulcan way. He'd watch Spock's slender green-tinged fingers disappear inside him. He'd beg for Spock's probing fingers to find the meld points on his face.

Jim's face lurched forward, seeking a meld from a man that wasn't there. He was so wrapped up in the mental fantasies playing out in his shaken brain that again, it took him a moment to realize something was happening…

The door to the room was literally flying off it's hinges with a scream of twisting metal, and a figure stumbled into the room. Spock. It was Spock. Or was it? This could definitely be a hallucination. But it looked like Spock. And Spock looked angry.

A guttural, primal noise ripped through the air and the new arrival lunged towards Lane.

There's no way it could be Spock. Could it?

The scene unfolding in front of him was a blur of black hair, pointed ears, Lane's pale skin, Spock's blue shirt and splats of liquid (assumed to be blood). Lane was on the ground at one point, and Spock hauled him back to his feet, only to slam him back to the floor.

Spock was yelling?

Spock was yelling.

And his fists were furiously pounding into Lane who was begging and pleading for mercy. Spock said something to Lane, darkly, in a hushed growl. Jim couldn't make it out.

But even when Lane was on the ground bleeding, Spock wasn't stopping.

Spock wasn't stopping.

"Spock," Jim said weakly, but the Vulcan ignored him.

"Spock!"

This time the Vulcan looked up at Jim from where he was perched over Lane on the floor. His bangs were disheveled, his brown eyes were swallowed in black, bright red blood was splattered on his face and his uniform was torn from where the man had grasped at it.

Spock stood slowly, looking down at the nearly naked man that he had just beaten the shit out of. Once on his feet, he quickly bent down and checked for a pulse. There it was. A slow but steady thud, thud, thud.

He moved toward his captain, bloodied hands outstretched, ready to help, but unsure where to start.

"The cuffs…" Jim croaked, twisting his hands that ached painfully above his head.

Spock came closer, reaching up and literally tearing the cuffs from the wall. Jim winced in pain as the blood rushed back into his appendages. He collapsed into Spock. Wedged between the wall and Spock, he watched as his first officer snapped the cuffs so that his hands could function independently. Then he reached down and pulled Jim's boxers up over his hard on.

He should be embarrassed right? Naked and hard in front of Spock. Yeah, he was a little embarrassed, but it paled in comparison to the relief of Spock being here - rescuing him.

Everything about this situation was so surreal. His brain wanted to process it, but wasn't capable of doing so.

"Spock…" he said, savoring the word on his tongue, slipping a hand inside the tear of Spock's shirt, and feeling the cool skin beneath.

He was so dizzy, and all of the panic inside of him had turned to a fuzzy warmth that only intensified in Spock's presence. His forehead was up against Spock's and he breathed in the spicy familiar scent that greeted his senses.

Who knows when it happened, or how, but he was hugging Spock, clinging to his friend. His hips moved forward of their own accord, pressing his swollen dick into Spock's abdomen. He gave the smallest moan into Spock's pointed ear.

But the heady flutter in his chest dissolved as Spock took a step back, pulled out his communicator and called for assistance. But there was no need to call, not really, because Bones was already there, and the police quickly followed.


	4. Chapter 4

The moment after Jim and Spock broke contact, Bones showed up just in time to catch the captain as he twisted to face the doctor and instead lurched toward the ground. Bones lunged forward, reaching his arms out and stopping Jim from smacking his body into the concrete floor.

A searing pain had gripped the back of Jim's neck & head and the whole room was spinning. Bones was waving a tricorder over him while he searched for Spock. But the corners of his vision were turning black.

An unfamiliar face appeared. Bones quarreled with it as he stuck a hypo in Jim's neck.

The face was a law enforcement agent. He was trying to ask him questions, but Jim's head hurt so damn bad…it was murder trying to focus. So he gave choppy one word answers to the questions he'd ask a victim in a similar situation.

"Lane attacked. Drugged me. Sexual assault."

The more he spoke, the more the pounding pain in his head intensified. "Not raped."

Like a valve being released on a pressurized canister, weighted breaths of relief escaped into the air .

The face nodded, apparently satisfied by the sparse information, and disappeared.

"Back to ship," Jim said, looking up at Bones with glassy wet pupil-blown eyes. "Take. Me. Back ship," the black tunnel surrounding his vision was getting smaller.

"Okay Jim, we'll get you back to the Enterprise," Bones said as the hovering med bed lifted the captain's nearly naked body from the ground.

He lolled his head to the side and saw Spock. Cherry red blood still dripped from his hands and his expression, as always, was unreadable. But there was a tension in the brief look he shared with his first officer. Beneath it was horror, anger, sadness and shock, but Jim couldn't decipher any of it in his addled state.

The last thing he remembered was staring up at the ceiling of the club, inundated by the pulsing cerulean lights and ear-splitting music. With all of the hypo's that Bones stuck in his neck, it was easy to answer sleep's call - and he was grateful for that.

Spock needed time to meditate, to calm himself and think through everything that had just happened, but he had neither the desire nor the time to do so.

The captain was brought back to the ship, treated for his minor injuries and remained resting in sickbay.

Spock had quickly and efficiently answered law enforcement's inquiries about the events of the night, and once free of them he headed to his quarters.

His heavy footsteps echoed loudly through the halls.

Finally he reached his door and it whooshed open, allowing him inside.

For the first time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It was a good thing that the ship was nearly empty because his appearance was quite alarming.

His hair was disheveled, and dried splats of blood dotted his face. The rosy lifeblood and navy uniform combined to produce deep purple splotches on his regulation shirt. Pale skin and coarse black chest hair was visible beneath the tear that was ripped in it.

It felt hard to breathe, but he ignored the sensation, turning to the sink.

Moving his tainted hands, he summoned the water, violently scrubbing them until they were free from Lane. He harshly scrubbed his face as well and quickly combed his hair before gliding over to the dresser and pulling out a new shirt.

Once he looked somewhat presentable, Spock strode to his desk, took a seat and hailed himself.

After a moment, Spock prime appeared.

"Is Jim alright?" the elder asked immediately.

"Yes," Spock answered, internally debating the definition of "alright."

He was unsure of how to proceed. Should he disclose the events of the night to Spock Prime? Did he want to know what happened? And most intriguing of all - how did he know that something bad was happening to Jim in the first place?

Keenly aware of Spock's pause, the ambassador waited for the young version of himself to decide what to say next.

"May I ask, Ambassador Spock, what led you to the realization that Jim was in danger?"

The older Vulcan knew this was coming, but that fact did not make the question any easier to answer.

"When I first met Jim on Delta Vega, there was a great deal information that needed to be shared in a very short amount of time," he began. "In order to save time, I mind melded with your Captain Kirk."

For whatever reason, this information disturbed Spock - greatly. He experienced an emotion that most closely resembled what he had determined to be…jealousy. But that was absurd! How could he be jealous of himself?

"Apparently, when our minds became one," Spock Prime paused, "a sort of connection was forged."

Spock's eyes grew wide. He dreaded what was coming next.

"In a way, we apparently became bonded. Which is why, when your captain was in distress and mentally reaching out for you, he instead called to me; since you do not currently possess a bond with him."

"Currently?" Spock interjected, his face a mixed bag of emotions that he typically wouldn't let another soul witness. But this was himself he was dealing with.

Every word coming out of Spock Prime's mouth had a thousand implications tied to it. He had melded with Jim, a fact that neither of them had disclosed to him. He had bonded with Jim, unintentionally? Was that even possible? Apparently so. And Jim had reached for him in his mind as he was being attacked? For what purpose if he had no knowledge of a bond?

"I realize that this is a lot of information to process," the ambassador said, breaking Spock from his whirling flurry of thoughts.

"But what is most important is that your version of James T. Kirk remains unharmed."

It occurred to Spock then that the ambassador didn't need to hear the events of the night, he could probably determine what had occurred by probing the bond. But that would be an intrusion. Would Spock Prime do such a thing?

As if reading his thoughts, the older Vulcan answered the unspoken question.

"You can rest assured that in no way would I ever take advantage of such a bond," the ambassador said. His own heart aching for the more familiar bond of the t'hy'la he had lost many years ago. That is why it was so easy to forge this one, because although different, the man he had bonded with was still James T. Kirk.

The light and warmth of that string that connected them awakened something that Spock Prime had spent decades trying to put away. And the thought of severing that freshly uncovered connection induced a pain so violent in his heart that he was sure it could kill him if done.

But he did not mention these things. Not now.

"I know that there is much to discuss," Spock Prime said, sadness slipping through the cracks of his words. "But for now, you and the captain should rest."

Spock nodded, understanding that the ambassador likely needed rest as well. His mouth was dry, there was a swarm of questions forming in his mind and his hands were tangling with one another in his lap. Yet smoothly he said, "we will talk again soon. Thank you ambassador."

Spock Prime glanced down for a moment, then back up at Spock. "Thank you," he said after a long pause, the words sounding as if they emanated straight from his soul. And with that the monitor went black.


End file.
